


to quench and temper.

by hoshiumies



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Trans Lio Fotia, i haven't written fic in like. checks watch. 5 years., idfk what im doing but honestly does anyone ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshiumies/pseuds/hoshiumies
Summary: Snippets of drabbles and unfinished prompts that have been left to waste in my gdocs.o1. soothe. (G. Galo/Lio) — Lio comes home from a hailstorm.o2. sunrise, sunset. (G. Lio & Gueira & Meis) — The Mad Burnish trio reminisce during night watch.o3. home. (G. Lio & Gueira & Meis) — Lio stays over at Gueira and Meis's place. The two proceed to stage an intervention.o4. present-tense. (G. Lio) — At the dawn of a new world, Lio takes up issue with how his people are referred to as.
Relationships: Lio Fotia & Gueira & Meis, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 14
Kudos: 137





	1. soothe.

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello, i haven't posted fanfic in like 5 years, so please forgive me if this isn't the best lmao,,, promare has me in its grip like a madman and i keep writing drabbles for it. pls help.
> 
> also, none of these are beta'd because if i die, it shall be by my own hand and no other's.

—

Lio burls into the apartment with the ferocity of the hailstorm battering the city outside, angrily stomping his boots out on the front door mat— _thump thump thump_.

Galo’s brows crease, especially with how Lio seems to be tracking snow into their place. It’s starting to pile up beyond just the front entrance, and he knows that the inevitable puddle that’ll arise from his actions will only serve to frustrate Lio even more later on. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, voice teetering on the edge of playful chiding and genuine concern. He ghosts his arms around the smaller man, silently asking for consent to hold. “What’s wrong, Lio?”   
Lio seems to understand the gesture, and he leans into Galo’s touch before shaking his boots clean off. “I fucking hate,” the last word is tacked on with venomous vehemence, as he hastily yanks off his hat, “the goddamn motherfucking,” his gloves, “hail! It’s stupid! I hate it.” With a final shrug of his jacket, he shoves the menagerie of winter clothing into the front closet.   
They’re all coated in snow, and Galo thinks he’ll have to mop up that area in a few hours. 

Galo counts in his head— _one, two, three_ —that’s three swear words in the span of just a few sentences. Lio must be rather upset, in a way that tells Galo that perhaps the source of his rage isn’t just from the horrible weather outside. 

He takes Lio’s hand, gentle (always gentle), and guides him to the comfort of their shared bedroom. With only silence as their witness, Galo lays them both down, shuffling the blanket over and swaddling the both of them with it.   
The way he holds Lio is gentle, too. The poor thing is shivering from head to toe. Galo’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight. 

“Hey,” it is stern, but still soft. Galo tilts Lio’s chin up so he can look at him clearly. “What’s up?”   
Lio looks rough for wear—even more than he does usually, and Galo wonders for the umpteenth time since their first meeting how such a small body could wield such fierceness inside of it. Lio bites his lower lip, trepidatious. Galo notices the way that he picks at the sleeves of his sweater—he’s nervous. 

“You don’t have to talk,” he concludes after a few minutes of silence. He brushes Lio’s hair aside, tucks it behind his ear. “But I’ll always be here to listen.”   
The only reply he gets is a nod, but it is more than enough for him. 

  
“I’m sorry.” It comes after a bout of comfortable silence, and the tick of the bedside clock is the only thing filling the empty spaces in between. “For being difficult, I mean.”   
“What? Lio, no no no, don’t apologize!” Galo brings him in, just a little closer. “You were upset. That’s all.”   
Lio exhales against him, and Galo can feel the way his shoulders sag, almost as if whatever inner turmoil was gnawing away at him has left him weary and tired. “Thank you. I just…” A shift in position, the rustling of bedsheets. “I don’t like the cold. I hate hail most of all.” 

And, well, yeah. It makes sense to Galo—after the events of the Second World Blaze, he’d noticed the way the former Burnish would huddle close to one another, always shivering.   
The first winter was particularly brutal—even indoors, Lio seemed to run so cold, Galo was astonished at how he didn’t ever get sick from the sensation. But the departure of the Promare meant that Lio and his people now harbour within them a great emptiness, a yearning to burn, but the inability to do so. Galo can never completely understand it—but he sympathizes, irregardless. After all, he knows loneliness, too. It is a different loneliness, but it is loneliness, nonetheless. 

(In a way, being alone, together, isn’t so bad.) 

It is within this simple musing that the realization hits Galo like a freight train—Lio doesn’t just hate the hail because it’s cold, or inconvenient. There is a trauma buried underneath, deep-rooted and obscured by a subtle demeanour. 

“Can I ask you something?”   
A hum. “Sure.”   
“The reason why you dislike hail—it reminds you of Freeze Force, doesn’t it? Getting pelted by hail is no better than getting shot at with their bullets…”   
A sharp inhale, shuddering and vulnerable. _So that’s it._ “…Yeah.” 

Galo doesn’t know how else to respond. This is Lio’s space, and he doesn’t want to infringe upon it. He counts silently—one, two, three… 

Finally, Lio speaks. “That day. When the settlement was hit. I wasn’t able to do anything to help them. In the end, all I could do was watch as my own two generals sacrificed their lives just to save mine. I don’t want to lose anyone again. I don’t want to feel that weak again.”   
“No wonder you were crying that time,” Galo responds, smoothing a hand the corner of Lio’s eye. The both of them deign not to comment on how his thumb comes out wet. “You felt like you’d failed them all.”   
A nod against his chest. A deeper burying into it. 

Galo’s hand finds itself set softly against Lio’s back, rubbing circles into it. Lio breathes, and his exhale comes out slightly less broken. 

“Thank you, Galo.”   
“Hmm? For what?”   
“For listening. For being here. For saving my life, and theirs.”   
“Of course,” Galo smiles against the crown of Lio’s head, “I told you, didn’t I? I’m a firefighter! I’ll extinguish every flame.” 

Lio snorts against him, gently smacking at his arm. “You dork. Even when you’re taking a day off, you’re still talking about work.”   
“Well, duh. Something-something about my burning soul or whatever, right?”   
“Workaholic.”   
“Grumpy boots.” 

They settle comfortably into silence soon after. And with the dull _tap-tap_ -tapping of the hailstorm outside their apartment, and the beat of Galo’s heart against his ears— _thump thump thump_ , Lio is lulled into a comfortable slumber.


	2. sunrise, sunset.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mad Burnish trio reminisce during night watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a small scene i had in my head. can you tell i have no idea how to start anything,, laughs,  
> lio also makes an allusion to being trans in this one.
> 
> just a fair warning, this one very very briefly talks about difficult familial situations.

If there’s one topic that Meis knows how to conduct himself around, it’s that of Lio’s life.  
He isn’t the type to talk openly about his past—soft-spoken, but never quiet ; reserved, but never secretive. Whereas Meis often finds himself pocketing little packets of lies, Lio deigns to embroider his heart on his sleeve, and then pick it apart with a seam ripper at night.

But tonight—tonight is different. 

They’re sprawled on a shitty blow-up mattress, having found an abandoned gas station in the middle of the desert to crash in for the night. Meis takes up the left side, Gueira next to him, and Lio, sitting lazily on the edge.  
They’d all determined themselves to be too restless to actually sleep for the night, and instead collectively took the night watch. In truth, the decision came after Lio’s protests were muffled out by Gueira and Meis’s own. Take three stubborn idiots, mix them around, and you have the scenario presented as it is now, Meis muses. 

It’s hard to tell how it all came about; a casual conversation led to Gueira making a reference about his life, and from then on, the anecdotes began to tumble, one by one. But now, they’re unravelling each other—gently, calmly, softly. Kindly. 

“Were your parents good people?” The question comes after a bout of Meis and Gueira complaining about their own. Lio, courteous as ever, opted to merely listen in with an empathetic ear and a few attentive hums.  
Lio shrugs in reply. “They were … _okay_ , I guess.”  
“You _guess?_ ” Meis rolls around a little, propping himself up on one arm to get a better look at his leader. 

The fire in front of them flickers, illuminating Lio’s soft features. “It’s not like I saw them that much to ever know.”  
“…Oh.” He feels a little bad—perhaps it’s a memory best not dug up. 

Lio sighs, having sensed Meis’s disquiet. “It isn’t a sore subject or anything. I just don’t like to talk about things that aren’t relevant.” With a snap of the fingers, he calls forth a small flame. It dances against the top of his finger before hopping in to join its comrades in the fire pit. “But I suppose I’m grateful. My parents were part of the aristocracy. I could ring a bell, and I would’ve had any wish granted to me.” The statement is punctuated by Lio comically flicking his wrist, as if he were holding said bell and using it to chime a servant over.  
“Doesn’t seem any different from how it is now,” Meis jokes in reply. 

Lio rolls his eyes, but the slight upturn of his lips dips down into its usual neutrality. “I guess you’re technically not wrong. I was spoiled rotten … Just as long as I behaved. And sat still. And didn’t speak. And didn’t disappoint my parents, or bring down our family name. I played the role of their pretty porcelain doll of a perfect daughter to a T.” 

Gueira, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, groans and shifts in his place. He sits up, and the movement causes Lio’s gaze to shift towards the two of them. 

“You say you’re _grateful?_ For having been treated like that?”  
“I know my place, Gueira. I didn’t have a life like the two of you did—I was blessed. I can’t just ignore that privilege.”  
“Sure, but were you _happy?_ ” The question is raw. Genuine. 

Perhaps that’s why it seems to sting Lio a bit, and he turns back around, kicking a rock on the ground. “I… was satisfied. Up until I wasn’t. And then I left. That’s all.” 

And then Gueira’s eyes drop, a frown tugging at his lips. The next inquiry comes out so soft and quiet, it’s startling : “Lio, were you even _loved?_ ” 

He gets no reply, but the lapsing silence does well to answer his question in Lio’s place. 

“I wasn’t.” A silence follows. “But I am now.” 

The fire crackles. And the sun begins to rise over the desert horizon.


	3. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lio stays over at Gueira and Meis's place. The two proceed to stage an intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this one a while back, but i finally got to finishing it. enjoy !

"Welcome," Gueira says, spreading his arms out, "to the Casa de GueiMeis."

Conveniently enough, the other half of said duo emerges from the kitchen, giving the redhead a playful smack on the arm with an oven mitt. "I told you, It's pronounced _Guei_ Meis."  
He receives a cocked eyebrow in response. "No, no, it's GueiMeis."

"Can I come in now?"

The two of them turn their attention to Lio, who'd been invited to stay the night at their new apartment. He stands awkwardly at the front entrance, smiling amusedly at their little argument.

It's a nice place—not obscenely large, but not small enough to suffocate. It teeters on the edge of minimalistic and loud, a perfect combination for a space which houses the combined tornado that is Gueira and Meis (or GueiMeis, he muses, however it's supposed to be pronounced).

Meis strides over, and the movement reminds Lio of a clucking mother hen. The imagery is tucked away in the corner of his mind before he can dwell on it for too long—if he does, then he'll just start laughing like a madman for no apparent reason, and the two former generals of Mad Burnish already think of him as one, already.   
Removing Lio's possessions—just a duffle bag of his necessities like his toothbrush, and a change of clothes—Meis sorts them into the little closet across from the shoe rack. Lio also deigns to take his shoes own off, placing them next to a pair of flame-emblazoned sneakers.

When all of his belongings are sorted away, Lio situates himself comfortably onto the living room couch, and proceeds to take his tablet out. The action prompts an eyebrow raise from Meis.

"Whatcha got there, Boss?"  
"I need to work on an interim report for the Burnish Reintegration Project. They need it by next weekend, and I have to look it over before submitting it."  
"Um." This time, it's Gueira who speaks. "Boss, how long _have_ you been working on that? I swear you talked about writing it, like, weeks ago, too."

Lio gives a pensive hum. "I don't know, about a month?" When he looks up is when the two of them share a Look between one another — one with a capital 'L' and a trademark symbol tacked on the end. Uh oh.  
"That's not, like, a month _consecutively_ , right?" Gueira chuckles, almost nervous in nature. _What in the world is he so tense about…?_

"What is this, an interrogation?" A smile ghosts Lio's lips, but it seems like the joke doesn't land. Gueira and Meis's expressions stay placid, and he has no idea what he's done to warrant such a reaction. So, he mirrors their evenness, thin-lipped frown and all. The playfulness in his voice drops to neutrality. "Yes, I _do_ mean consecutively. You know I can't just abandon all of my responsibilities to our people just because we're not surviving on stale bread and abandoned gas station snacks anymore."

"When was the last time you even slept?" Meis asks.  
"Last night," Lio replies curtly.  
"No, I mean like, _actually_ slept. You know, _rested_."  
Now he's getting a little annoyed. Lio closes his eyes and counts to three, grounding himself before he lets this mild irritation light up into something worse. When he's done, he narrows his eyes. "What are you getting at here?"  
  
Gueira grimaces, shoulders bunching up. He rubs the back of his neck, searching for the right words. "It's just … We kinda hoped you'd take this time to _not_ do work for once. You haven't visited us a single time since we moved out, and we thought this would be a strictly no-work kind of hangout for us all."

"When did you learn to be so nosy?" Lio doesn't mean for that to come out the way it does — but he can feel himself getting defensive over this, stubbornness and pride overriding his usual level-headedness.  
"I dunno, when did _you_ learn to deflect?" Meis's response is instant, cutting through like a blade. He crosses his arms, almost as if issuing a challenge towards his former-but-not-really leader.

_Shit._

"I'm taking this." And with that, Meis strides over and yoinks Lio's tablet away from him before he even gets the chance to ask what 'this' even is.  
(Well, now he knows.)

"Wh— Hey! Meis, that's not funny, give it back," Lio all but growls out.

Gueira clasps his hands together. His expression is desperate— bottom lip jutting out, brows creased against his forehead, nose scrunched to the left — as is his voice when he pleads, "Please, I am begging you— I will literally get on my knees and start begging— get some _rest_."  
Lio sighs, and tries to reach for his tablet— Meis merely stretches further, keeping it just out of arm's reach. He relents, and flops back onto the couch with a disgruntled look.

"Look, Boss," Meis says, as he meanders over to put the tablet on a high shelf, "Even if your pout is cute as hell, we're not letting you get off this easy."  
Lio pouts even harder, petulant. Meis raises an eyebrow, provocative.

"I liked it better when you two would actually listen to me."  
"As if we ever did?" Gueira teases, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.  
A beat. And then Lio's facetious pettines breaks into a smile. "You didn't, no."

Meis settles comfortably between the two of them, and Lio proceeds to use the both of them as leg rests.  
The only thing that fills in the silence that takes over the room is the tick-tick-tick of the living room's analog clock.

Finally, Lio speaks. "I can't just rest. You know that. It's not in me to give up."  
The other two groan. Gueira throws his hands up as if to say, _'Really?'_ and Meis tilts his head back, fluorescent lights burning into his retinas.  
It's Meis who responds first: "You're not giving up, Boss. You're just taking a breather."

"But I can't _do_ that right now. I can rest at a later date, but every second that I'm not working on reintegration issues is another second that a Burnish child stays in a foster home, it's another second that our dead don't get a proper place of rest—"  
"You need to rest, too!" Gueira sounds borderline livid, and Lio has half a mind to scoff at the indignation of it all. "You keep telling us that you'll rest at another date, but Boss, it's been _months_ now, and every time we see you, it's at an even worse state than when we last did!"

Lio opens his mouth. And then closes it.  
Meis takes this as an opportunity to interject. "Boss..." No. It sounds wrong in his mouth. He tries again. " _Lio_. You keep talking about all of this, and I agree. These things need to be done."

Gueira seems to not like where this is going — always jumping to conclusions, one way or another — and Meis holds a finger to object. _I'm not done yet.  
_"They need to be done. But watching you run yourself into the ground like this — it's killing me, Lio. It's killing everyone who has to see this — you're killing _yourself_ . This isn't like when we were on the run anymore. You have people here who love you, people who need you alive and happy and healthy. You used to be able to burn without respite, but now you're burning yourself _out_ . Please, let us in, let us _help_ you. This isn't healthy, and you know it."

Lio can't muster an argument like that — how can he, when Meis has bared his heart out so openly like this? He bites his lip, apprehensive.  
It comes gradually, but it is a relief to see, nonetheless. There is a moment of stillness. And then Lio's shoulders droop. He relents.

"I get it," and oh, the two of them knew that this is the result they wanted, but the way it's delivered breaks their hearts as cleanly as the tone of Lio's voice does, "I know I have to rest."  
"So what's stopping you?"  
Hesitance. “I don’t know how.”

Meis clucks his tongue. He gestures as Lio to get up from his position with a wave of his hand. “C’mere.”  
Lio abides, and shuffles a little closer to Meis. The latter turns to Gueira, repeating the same motion. “You too, c’mon. Coooome on.” Gueira follows suit, though a little more confusedly.

The moment they’re all together, Meis slings his arms around the two of them, sighing pleasantly. “See? Isn’t this better?”  
Gueira barks out a laugh, lightly punching at Meis’s arm. “God, you’re such a sap.”  
He merely gets a shush in response, and a low hum. “Just feel the good vibes all around. Isn’t this great? We’re having a bonding moment.”

When the Second World Blaze ended, and their new world began, Gueira had said something about how it was great that the three of them now had a home for themselves—no more sleeping on dingy blow-up mattresses, or in the back of shitty pick-up trucks on the abandoned parking lots of old drive-by’s.

In the back of his mind, Lio can’t help but want to voice out his disagreement with that statement now.   
A run-down apartment in the corner of Promepolis is not his home.

 _This,_ he thinks, as he burrows his face into Meis’s neck and reaches out to give Gueira a gentle pat on his leg, _this is home._


	4. present-tense.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the dawn of a new world, Lio takes up issue with how his people are referred to as.

_"Former Burnish Children go Back to School"  
_ _"Ex-Burnish Reinstated at Family Company"  
_ _"The Truth Behind the Burnished and Kray Foresight"_

Lio sees the words emblazoned on billboards, inked onto newsprint, floating words on his newly-gifted phone screen.

He hates it all.

He hates the idea that the Burnish are no longer existent, as if they've disappeared completely. Ex-Burnish as a previous. Burnish _ed_ as past-tense.

Kray Foresight and his Foundation may be locked behind bars, awaiting trial, but Lio's people are still hurting. The end of the world was stopped, but Lio's people are still hurting. The Promare have returned to whence they came, _but Lio's people are still hurting_.

It takes only thirty years to manipulate a populace into believing that cruelty imposed upon their fellow man is justified. 

Lio Fotia was born a scapegoat.  
He almost died martyr.

It will take more than triple that lifetime for that wound to heal.

The fire which burned inside of them may be gone, but it wasn't solely the Promare which marked them as Burnish. It was the suffering. It was the pain. It was the fear.

But it was also the resilience. The strength. 

And it was the hope.

Hope for a better future.  
Hope for a kinder world.  
Hope for something more than just this.

The earth was set in flames.  
Together, with Galo, Lio had unmade it. And then he stitched it back together.

The rebirth of the world begins with a fistbump, and the filtering of the setting sun.

Lio hopes that this new world will be kinder. To him. To everyone. To the Burnish.

Burnish, present-tense.


End file.
